


The Lady and the Jäger

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimo iz in luff.  Zo, he needs some advice on how to be vell dressed.  Und who better to ask dan Mister Vooster?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady and the Jäger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Damaiuo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damaiuo/gifts).



> Damaiuo wanted to know if anything else happened in the caves; and, apparently, it did.

I am, as I have mentioned, in the process of collecting my memoirs; and recently I was asked if anything of interest happened while I was in the caves outside Mechanicsburg, other than the cricket match and the exceedingly embarrassing incident involving the shower. In fact it did, but I have not previously told this story, since I thought I should first ask Dimo's permission. I have now asked him, and his response was, “Hy dun see vy hyu vorried”; and so, without further ado, I shall tell it.

I quite often used to keep the Jägers company while they were on look-out duty, since that could be a rather tedious job without someone there with whom they could chat. One morning I was up there talking to Oggie when Dimo came along to relieve him. After Oggie had left, Dimo said, “Hy very glad hyu iz here, Mister Vooster. Iz sumting hy need to tok about.”

“Feel free, Dimo,” I said. “You look a little worried. I hope nothing's wrong?”

“Vell... not wrong, exactly,” Dimo replied. “Der ting is, hy iz in luff.”

“It happens to most of us,” I said. “And with whom are you in love?”

“Vit Mister Heliotrope's cousin Anna. But, iz a problem. She dun know yet.”

Ah, yes; Anna von Mekkhan, a young lady with some very definite ideas. Dimo was by no means the first Jäger who had been bowled over by her. Only a couple of weeks ago, she had punched Maxim on the jaw for, as she put it, “getting fresh” with her after a few drinks. This, as I could have explained to her if she would listen, is precisely the wrong thing to do with a lovestruck Jäger; punching him on the jaw will only fan the flames of his ardour. However, she never would listen to me, having taken against me for some reason. I believe it was because of my nationality, though exactly what she had against the British I was never entirely clear.

“Ah,” I said, aloud. “I'm afraid you've got some competition there, Dimo.”

“Ja, vell, she already said she not interested in Maxim. Und all de odders she says are too scruffy. She really likes a man to be vell dressed. Hy surprised she not chasing _hyu_.”

“She doesn't like me,” I replied. “Which is perhaps fortunate, because I would not want to be the obstacle in the path of your romantic endeavours.”

“Hyu got a vay vit vords, Mister Vooster,” said Dimo. “But, see, hy been tinking. She not interested in Maxim, but at least he iz vell enough dressed. Hy dun tink hy iz. Zo... before hy schtart paying attention to de lady, hy vant to look der part. Hy vant to look even better dan Maxim. Und dis is vy hy vant to tok to hyu. Hyu iz der best dressed person in dese caves.”

“Oh!” I said. “Well... yes, I'll be very happy to help you with that, Dimo, but you, ah, might want a shave and a haircut as well.”

“Hokay. Hy can do dot.”

So I arranged to see him again later when he was not busy, and at this point I took a full set of measurements to send to my tailor. “You will need some white dress shirts, to begin with,” I said. “Those are essential. Everything else can vary quite considerably, but a man cannot be well dressed without a fine white shirt.”

“Has it got to be vhite?” asked Dimo doubtfully. “Hy not sure iz my colour. It vashes me out.”

“It is, I fear, the only possible colour for a dress shirt,” I said. “However, you can choose a wide variety of stylistic variations. I tend to like mine fairly plain, so that there is less for an aggressor to grab in a fight; but I assume you would not be wearing yours outside the caves, so you might wish for a more elaborate front. Some neat vertical knife pleats, perhaps?”

“Vot are dose? Like pockets vhere hyu put hyu knife?”

“Ah, no... the name comes from the fact that the pleats look like the blade of a knife,” I explained.

“Vell, dot sounds qvite Jägerish,” said Dimo happily. “Hokay. Put me down for de knife pleats.”

I noted that down, then drew a little sketch of a typical knife-pleated shirt front. “Like this.”

“Ja, dot looks goot. Zo, vot about der trousers?”

“I tend to think of those last,” I replied. “They're not the part of one's apparel that people are looking at. Establish the waistcoat and the top coat, and one generally finds that the trousers dictate themselves. But we haven't finished with the shirt; do you have any specific preferences regarding collars and cuffs?”

“Iz different vuns?” asked Dimo.

“Oh, great Scott, yes,” I said. “For a start, do you prefer a standing collar like the ones I wear, or one that folds over your neckwear?”

“Vot neckwear?” asked Dimo.

“Ah,” I said. “Perhaps we ought to decide that before you choose your collar. Well, for evening wear you will need a bow tie, which should be either black or white; or, of course, you could wear a club house or string tie, both of which are variations on the general theme of bow tie. For formal day wear I suggest an ascot, or perhaps a De Joinville, which is somewhat similar but wider. I must admit I miss my ascots, but I can't wear them on duty; I really don't want to make it easy for anyone to throttle me.”

“Ho,” said Dimo. “Vot do dose look like?”

I added an ascot to the shirt sketch, then drew a similar sketch to show him what a De Joinville looked like. He decided he liked the De Joinville better, and was even more pleased when I told him he had the option of wearing it with a tie ring rather than learning how to tie a Gordian knot.

I will not weary you with the details of the entire process, but I am sure you can imagine it took quite some time. Dimo was almost hopping up and down with impatience until the parcel arrived from the tailor, and insisted that I should be there when he opened it.

“Hey,” he said. “Iz zumting wrong. Der shirt iz all in bits!”

“Dimo, if you remember, the collars and cuffs are detachable,” I said. “You've got some extra ones here. Oh, and when you wash the shirt and collars and cuffs, you'll need to remember to starch them. I'll show you how to do that when it comes to it.”

He frowned dubiously. “Dis iz complicated.”

“One does get used to it,” I assured him. But then, after all, it was second nature to me.

“How do hy put it all togedder? Iz like a yigsaw.”

I showed him. “This is the back collar stud,” I explained. “It's the shorter one, because it doesn't have to go through so many layers. Put that in first to hold the collar on. The cuffs go on like this – cuff links go through here, studs through the other set of buttonholes. Now you can put the shirt on, and you fasten it with these studs here. The collar fastens at the front with this stud; you see it's a lot longer than the back one.”

“Hokay. Hy goink to put der shirt und trousers on, den.”

I turned round to allow him to do this in privacy. “Hokay, hyu ken look now. Have hy got it right?”

“Ah... very nearly,” I said. “There's something a little wrong with the front collar fastening. Let me sort that out for you.”

“It feels a bit veird,” said Dimo. “Dis collar iz so schtiff hy could probably saw vood vit it.”

“Yes, my tailor knows what he's doing,” I agreed. “There you are! Now you want your De Joinville. That goes through the loop at the back of the shirt, which stops it riding up the back of your collar.”

“Oh, _dot_ iz vot dot iz for. Hy vondered.” He unfolded the scarf and threaded it, with some difficulty, through the loop. “Iz fiddly.”

“It is, a little. Of course, I always cut the loops off my dress shirts, just so that nobody can grab them; it's not as if I don't wear a waistcoat, but if someone expects the loop to be there... Anyway, now you want your tie ring.”

“Ho ja. Hy neffer knew it took so many liddle bits of metal to be vell dressed.”

I smiled. “If you'd chosen an ascot, you'd have a pin for that as well.” I held up the waistcoat. “This next.”

“Ja, und den der top coat.” He shrugged the waistcoat on, buttoned it up, pulled it straight, then reached for the top coat. “De brass buttons look really goot,” he said, grinning.

“Your entire ensemble looks good,” I assured him. “Just give your boots a good polish, and you will be from head to toe the perfect example of an impeccably dressed Jäger.”

“Ja! Hy vill polish my boots until hyu can see hyu face in dem, und den hy vill go and tok to de lady.” He beamed, showing all his fangs. “Tenk hyu. Hyu iz alvays a great help.”

“My pleasure,” I replied. I really did hope Fräulein von Mekkhan would be interested, after all this; Dimo had gone to considerable expense, as well as trouble.

Alas, when I next saw Dimo, he was not looking so impeccable at all. His fine burgundy velvet top coat was torn in several places and missing some buttons. His waistcoat looked as though something had chewed it. His front collar stud had gone astray, and consequently his collar was hanging off at the back; and his paisley silk De Joinville was paisley no more, but only a mass of wispy shreds. He gave me an amiable grin.

“How did it go with Fräulein von Mekkhan?” I enquired.

“She told me to get vound,” he replied.

“Well, that wasn't very nice of her after all that trouble,” I said, rather hotly. “Obviously, if she's not interested, she's not interested, but there are much more polite ways of turning someone down.”

“Hy kind of understand it,” said Dimo. “She gettink tired of Jägers fallink in luff vit her. At least hy know now vhere hy schtand.”

“You're very philosophical about it, Dimo,” I observed. “So... what happened to your clothes?”

“Oh, dot. Vell, vun of de boys said dere vos a pack of von Blitzengaard's volf tings outside, und hy vos feelink a bit disappointed, like hyu vould, zo hy tot hy vould go out und haff a bit of fun. Iz notting like bashink seven bells out of evil volf constructs vhen hyu iz disappointed in luff.”

“I'm glad it made you feel better,” I said, privately deciding that the next time I happened to be disappointed in love, I would not be following Dimo's example. At least, not if I could help it.

“Ja, it did. Hy must haff done for about a dozen of dem before de rest gave up und ran avay. But... hy got to say, dese clothes looked very nize, but dey iz not goot for fightink in.”

“I, er, can see that,” I said. “We might just salvage the shirt, I think. But as for the rest... well, it's a real pity, especially after you spent all that money.”

Dimo looked at me thoughtfully. “Hy iz not too vorried about dot. But... hy iz interested. Hyu alvays dress like dot, except hyu dun vear der neckvear, vhich hy understand. Und zumtimes hyu got to fight. Hokay, hyu not as schtrong as vun of us, und hyu couldn't fight zumting like vun of dose volf tings. But hyu brave vhen hyu do fight.” He paused. “Zo. How do hyu manage not to end up lookink like dis?” He pointed to his own dishevelled attire.

I thought about it. It was a very good question.

“I suppose,” I said, at last, “you probably just have to be British.”

**Author's Note:**

> The description of how to assemble a well-dressed man in this story is historically accurate. If Mr Wooster's clothing dates him to the same period as it would in this universe, and going by what I can work out regarding the characters' ages, then he was quite likely to have been born in 1864, which delights me immensely, because it would make him exactly one hundred years older than I am.


End file.
